Word

I held you in my hand, little bird.
I waited for your wings
to burst, ragged like flames,
from your sides.
I licked you like a mother,
cupped you in my tongue
like a cool marble an waited
to spit you onto the floor,
to send you rolling across the boards
into someone else's toes.
I put you down like just another gear
in the great sentence
and waited for you to spin.
The light fell out of your faces.
Who are you calling this time?
I pulled off you little red cap "pre"
and your shoes, "ed" and "s."
You glimmered then, naked, quivering.
Make me any age, you beckoned,
duplicate me, thrust me into the past,
un-do me.
Little mirror, little bird, sing.